“I love you,” she breathes out.

And I kiss her, letting her feel my heart so she never doubts it.

I’m going to marry her.

Four Years Later

I’M GONNA BE sick.

I hover over the sink, seeing Macon through the window. He paces around the garage, working on my Bronco, and it seems like maybe I should wait to talk to him. He’s already fixing my car for free. I’d hate to ask for more.

A slap lands on my ass, and I yelp, spinning around. Dex squeals, Cheetos crumbs all over his mouth, and then he runs away.

“Dex!” I growl as he disappears out of the Jaeger’s kitchen.

No manners, and why should he? I’ve only spent more time with him the last four years than his aunt. He’s absorbed nothing that I’ve tried to teach him.

I dust his crumbs off my jeans and blow out a breath, smoothing down my hair. I’m more nervous to speak to Macon than I am to Liv.

I take a couple of more deep breaths, and swipe the corners of my mouth, tidying up my lipstick, and head into the garage.

“Turn it up,” Macon calls out.

Army sits on the stool at the work table and reaches over, turning up the radio. Some Type O Negative song plays, and I hover at the doorway for a minute before I force myself down the steps.

“I’m not done yet,” Macon says to me.

He bends over the hood, twisting a wrench, and I stand on the other side, shifting on my feet.

Can I speak to you in private?

No, don’t say that. Adding occasion to this will just piss him off.

So Liv and I…like since we’re moving into the old lighthouse…I was like…wondering if…

Ugh. Why am I stuttering? After four years, I’m no more comfortable around this man than I ever was. Direct works best, but I feel like if I open my mouth and don’t prepare myself, I’ll puke.

I open my mouth and then close it, my skin vibrating, and a light sweat dampening it.

“Are you okay?” I hear someone ask.

I look up, seeing Macon frozen under the hood and watching me.

“Um, yeah. Why?”

He starts working again. “You look like you have something to say.”

I swallow a few times to wet my throat, but I realize I’m wringing my fingers, and I stop immediately.

“I…um…” I can’t catch my breath.

He stops again and looks up, and I sense that Army has stopped what he’s doing, as well, watching.

Just say it. Jesus.

I suck in a breath. “I would like to marry your sister.”

He stands there, and he doesn’t even look like he has a heartbeat as he stares at me.

My stomach roils, and I cough to stop myself from throwing up.

I mean, is he surprised? Liv and I have been together since high school. We’ve weathered separation, doubt, a few fights, uncertain futures, and where our careers would take us. She even left Dartmouth for a week and came home because we couldn’t stand to be apart anymore.

Until I convinced her to go back, that is.

We just bought the lighthouse, and now we’re renovating it. He knows we’re in this forever.

“And you want me to what?” he asks. “Ask her if she likes you, but just don’t tell her you like her unless I know she likes you first or something?”

Such an asshole. “I’m asking for your blessing.”

“My permission, you mean?” he corrects, amusement lighting up his expression.

I clench my jaw, my stomach all right now, but my anger rises to take its place.

He laughs, glancing to Army and then back to me. “She doesn’t come with goats or land or anything. We’re poor people, Clay. I mean, you could probably get us to pay you to take her off our hands.”

Army chuckles, and I cock a brow, losing my patience. “Macon…”

“I don’t know, we might be able to stuff her arms with six packs of Bud or something,” he offers as her dowry. “Would that do?”

Army cackles louder.

Asshole! I tense up. “Would you shut up?” I bark at Macon. “This was supposed to be a beautiful moment, dammit.”

I mean, excuse me for living. He’s a southern man. I thought the gesture of asking for his sister’s hand in marriage would be appreciated.

Fuck it. I’ll just take her, then. “Are you going to create a stink if I marry your sister?” I growl.

He and Army finish laughing at the irony of an independent woman like myself, a successful business owner, asking for a man’s permission for anything.

He calms down, sets down his tool, and walks around the Bronco to me. A thoughtfulness hits his eyes. “Be good to her?”

I square my shoulders.

“Be faithful and supportive,” he tells me. “It was the only thing my father could do for my mother. It kept her alive.”

I drop my eyes for a moment, knowing the mental illness that killed Trysta Jaeger years before she actually died. One of the hardest things to learn with my brother was that you couldn’t always take away the pain of those you loved. Just be there.

“At the end of the day, that trust is all you need,” Macon says.

I nod, a little surprised by the tears in my eyes.

He turns and heads back to the car. “If you fail her,” he calls over his shoulder. “I feed you to the gators.”

Army laughs, but I don’t as I leave the garage and grip the ring in my pocket.

Macon doesn’t make idle threats.

Macon sucks.

I’m cooking tonight. She doesn’t know, so I hope she doesn’t have anything planned, but I’m sure she doesn’t. She’s been so busy at work, and it’s kind of a double-edged sword to know what to think or feel when a funeral home is busy.

I mean, yeah, she’s able to support us as I wait for royalty checks from indie films and invest everything else I have in my first theater production at a playhouse in Miami next summer, but it also means people suffered, losing loved ones. I’m glad she’s doing well, though. The community trusts her, and Wind House has done well, taking her on as a partner.

I round the corner of the small market, searching for that wine she likes, but I see Mr. Collins standing in front of some canned goods, and I stop.

I take a step back, debating on trying to escape before he sees me.

But he twists his mouth to the side, looking unsure, and I don’t leave.

We get along and all, but we’re not usually alone together, either. Clay is better with the small talk.

“You look lost,” I say.

He jerks his eyes over to me, and then he chuckles, kind of laughing at himself. “I’m cooking dinner tonight,” he says. “For someone.” He looks back at his choices and then shakes his head. “I should just order takeout and act like I cooked it.”

Cooking for someone. Same as me.

I move to his side. “How about a…charcuterie board.” I reach over to the cheeses in the oblong cooler behind him, pulling a wedge of brie, some aged cheddar, and smoked gouda. “It’s easy and it looks really cultured and fancy, so I think you’ll pass with it. You can eat it outside or in front of a fire…”

He smiles and takes the stuff. “Anything low on carbs,” he murmurs his approval.